


Jonnathan Veer

by AmyNChan



Category: Original Work
Genre: boy is a walking danger magnet I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 19:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyNChan/pseuds/AmyNChan
Summary: It's just another day for him.  He's gotta make rent somehow, right?





	Jonnathan Veer

The city noises were a comfort to him, but they could not draw for him.  The kids from the apartment down below were screaming for supper, the couple above him was going at it again, and the cars out in the street below were jetting by as usual.  The city surrounded him, calmed him, and inspired him.  But alas, its sounds could not draw for him.

The deadline was swiftly approaching, and he had nothing to show for it.  No sketches, no line work, not even a drop of color on the page.  With frustration, he ran his fingers through his hair.  Clawing at the brown bristles on his head somehow helped to ease some of the tension.  Taking a deep breath, he reached for his pencil once again and decided he needed to draw.  Anything at this point; it didn’t matter.  All he needed was to draw.

A car passed by his window, horn blazing at some poor pedestrian as it passed.  The sound was enough to push him into action.  A pair of headlights appeared on the page, followed by a windshield and a few scraps of metal.  The tires were shaded into existence, followed swiftly by a street lamp.  For the next two hours, the car came to life on its little street.  He didn’t know all the mechanics of cars, but he knew enough of what they looked like to draw one almost perfectly.

_Finally,_ he thought. _That’s one for the portfolio.  One out of seven._

Jonnathan Veer groaned of frustration.  He supposed it was his own fault for making each portfolio personalized, but word on the street said that was the best way to get hired.  He could have made a general portfolio or something, but general things like that lacked the personal touch that he loved to give.

The kids thundered around downstairs once more.  His pencil hit the paper and, before he knew it, a smiling face was beaming up at him.  Nothing too fancy.  Just a couple of shining eyes, some long black hair, and a dimpled smile.  All of it was comprised by the wispy strokes of pencil on paper.  The youngest girl in the family was about seven years old.  He supposed he would have time to drop some ink on it later.  For now, he had to start another piece.

He listened for another piece of inspiration, but he was sorely disappointed.  New York, in classic New York fashion, had decided to deprive him of what he needed the most the instant he went looking for it.  The kids had quieted, the couple had calmed themselves for the night, and the street was silent.  Not even a useful cricket could be heard.

With a sigh, the dejected artist put his pencil away.  This was going nowhere.

* * *

Jonnathan stretched his neck to the left out as far as he could.  A few satisfying pops could be heard from his vertebrae and he relaxed when relief came.  He did it again with the other side.  Once finished, he allowed himself to sit down, finally finished with the day.

Well, almost finished with the day.  There was still that pile of letters to attend to.  He reached his hand out to grab the offending pile when a voice from down below called out.

“Hey, J!  You got time?”

Saved from dealing with the bills, Jonnathan rushed to his window and shoved it open.  In the street below stood roughly four or five kids.  The eldest of them, Carter, held a can of paint.  “You comin’ or what?”

“Like I’d say no!” laughed Jonnathan.  Bills forgotten, he reached out and blindly.  “Gimme a second!”

Jonnathan drew back from the window and finally grabbed at his jacket, just a few inches out of reach.  He stuffed the pockets with snacks that they all would need later, grabbed a few cans of paint himself, and ran out the door.

In the empty room, one of the forgotten bills slipped silently to the floor.

* * *

“Don’t worry, another one will come along.”

“I know, Rob.  You always get me the best, remember?”

“Damn straight I do.  You still on for this Friday?”

“Can’t.  I gotta finish this portfolio or I’m fried.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Two line arts, one full colored piece, and probably a landscape piece.”

“Damn.  How much longer to the deadline?”

“…I plead the fifth.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Just so you know, the law is on my side.”

“This time.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.  I mortally wounded.  I may never recover.  The darkness is closing in.  Tell my mother love her.  Tell Robyn she’s a pain in my ass.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll tell your job dealer she’s a pain in your ass.  Let’s see how that works for you.”

“You’re so cruel.”

“I try.”

* * *

Alarms.  It just had to be alarms.

He ran as fast as he was able.  His arms were weighed down by his heavy burden, but he could not let that stop him.  Maybe he _should_ have invested in the backpack…

The sounds of shouting were quickly closing in on him.  He had to get to his spot quickly or bad things would happen.  Very bad things.  The things he did not want to happen to him.  Yes, very bad things indeed.

He had to skirt around a low wall.  If his hands were free, he could have jumped it.  He _knew_ he could have jumped it.  He jumped it just last week with Ralph.

“There he is!”

_Uh-oh_.  He narrowed his eyes onto the path in front of him.  His spot wasn’t far, but he had to make sure he had a sizable distance from his pursuers before he could use it.  He used his body mass to knock over a couple of trash cans, hoping that would slow them down.  He didn’t look back to see if it worked.

With his heart thrumming in his ears, he made a final push to his hiding spot.  It was one of many around the neighborhood.  He always had these, just in case something like this happened.

He made a quick turn into the alleyway.  His foot slipped, which cost him a few precious seconds.  He scrambled to make up the lost time and get back on track.  His eyes darted left and right in their attempt to guide him forward.  While darkness was not a problem, the litter in the alleyway was.  That comic in the middle of the alley was _not_ there this afternoon and _definitely_ did not belong in the trash.

Yet he did not have the time to pick it up.  He would have to come back for it later.  For now, he had to make sure he stayed out of sight.  He didn’t design this suit for nothing, you know.

The darkness shrouded him, became his friend.  The bright lights of police-issued flashlights rushed past his spot.  He took steadying breaths through his mask, hoping that no one would hear.  The sounds of the city came to his aid.  A car rushed past as he drew a breath, wrapping him in one more layer of safety.  New York, in New York City fashion, had come to his rescue.

When the police had well and truly gone, he emerged and went home.

* * *

“Thanks again for the extension, Miss Beck.”

Weary, old, and rushed, the landlady merely waved her hand in Jonnathan’s general direction as she took off with his payment for the month, muttering something about young kids and irresponsible extensions.  As soon as she left, Jonnathan shut the door behind her with a sigh.  Have tired, half giddy, and one hundred percent relieved.

He had just barely made rent again.  Every time this happened, he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit of shock of adrenaline rush for his veins.  But it wasn’t like he did try to avoid this outcome, it just happened.  He applied for jobs like a good citizen, he put his all into every job he did manage to snag, and he didn’t go on his nighttime adventures too terribly often.  Last night was just an emergency.  Just an emergency.

His phone rang from the couch where he threw it this morning and he took three tired steps to get to it.  Last night had truly worn him down.  But, alas, no rest for the starving artist.  He picked up the phone.

“Hey, Jon, you’ll never guess what I just snagged for you.”

“Knowing you, Rob, it’s bound to be fabulous.”

“About as fabulous as an interview in Hell’s Kitchen can be.  You have four hours to be there.”

“I will never know how you find these so quickly.”

“Praise me later, get ready for your interview now.  I’m gonna text to the address and what the job is.”

“I owe you,” said Jonathan as he hung up the phone.  He ignored the fact that he probably owed her several times over by now in favor of pulling together his interviewing suit.  He only had the one suit, but it seemed to work wonders.

Once he was dressed, he grabbed his phone, wallet, and apartment keys.  As he was headed out, the mail came in.  The topmost was from the publishing house he had sent his portfolio to.  Eagerly, he ripped open.

_Mr. Veer,_

_We regret to inform you…_

“DAMMIT!”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this literally almost a whole year ago. X'D Just getting around to posting it now.


End file.
